The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
by ProjectRekal
Summary: Frodo is a teen about to leave school and venture into the outside world, past the quiet town of Hobbiton. However with the sudden disappearance of his Uncle Bilbo at his birthday Frodo's world is changed entirely. Is magic real? What's with this Ring he has been left? [ Awful summery-basically LOTR in modern verse, let us know what you think! ]
1. A Long Expected Party

**[** **A** **U** **THORS NOTE:** **So I have no idea where this idea is going but it suddenly popped into my head and I had to have a go at it. It's basically LOTR but set in a modern setting-obviously it was very late when I decided to go on this conquest and in turn it's not the best however! I gave it a go. Bit slow start but let us know what you all think always appreciate people's input and let us know if you'd like to see more! ]**

 **A LONG EXPECTED PARTY**

The day was late, afternoon running into dusk. The birds twittered loudly in the treetops. The town seemed miles away from the woodland that he resided in now. Was someone calling him? Frodo sat high in the tree, a leg dangling and swinging as he puffed on the cigarette perched in between his lips. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up sheltering his eyes from the bright sun that streamed through the canopy above. Reaching up he pulled the cigarette from his lips and allowed the smoke to drift gracefully skyward while his other hand reached into his Jean pocket and produced his iPod. He glanced lazily at the song currently playing, no he didn't fancy listening to Ed today. He quickly pressed and skipped. In the brief moment of silence he heard the familiar sound of tyres grinding over gravel and a radio crackling. It must have been one of those old radio stations that always played classical music...was that 'The Road Goes Ever On and On...'? Lifting his head off the branch Frodo pulled the end of his hood back his blue eyes studying the surrounding park. It was empty, aside from birds in the trees and squirrels running about. It was a humid summer afternoon that day. After a moment he quickly tossed the cigarette aside and leapt down from his seat in the tree. Hitting the lush grass below Frodo reached out and snatched his backpack from the tree base and slung it over his shoulders as he sprinted forward. His feet carried him quickly over the soft grasses of the park. He begun to catch a glimpse of a grey steely coloured car through the trees. It was the all too familiar exterior of the Mercedes-Benz E400. Pushing forward Frodo leapt atop a crumbling wall and laid his eyes on the car.

"You're late," he scoffed bringing his arms across his chest and folding them. The car remained silent a long moment before the driver's door popped open. The top of a grey fedora appeared as the man stepped out. A tall, slim man with a kind yet stern face. Dressed in a white shirt its collar slightly open, charcoal slacks, polished shoes and a grey trench coat the man glowered in his direction. His brows were thick, his jaw coated by a covering of beard that must have been at least four weeks or so overgrown.

"A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins, nor is he early. He arrives precisely as he means to."

There was a long silence as the teen and the man stared at one another. Wizard. The old man had always fancied himself something out of the ordinary. Ever since Frodo was a child he claimed he had magic. Frodo couldn't hold it in any longer, he felt the corners of his lips cracking into a smile. The man before him was fighting a smile also, he could tell. After what seemed like seconds both smiled. Frodo leapt from the wall and wrapped his arms around the tall man before him.

"It's wonderful to see you Gandalf!"

Gandalf laughed and returned the embrace readily.

"You don't think I'd miss your Uncle Bilbo's birthday?" The man smiled.

The both entered the Mercedes and proceeded down the road into the depths of Hobbiton, Frodo held the man's cane which had been propped in the passenger seat which Frodo now sat. His eyes looked out the clean glass windows to the passing woodland, it drifted away being replaced by high post and rails.

"What news of the outside then? Tell me everything!" Frodo glanced to Gandalf. The man had started puffing on a pipe before they had left the woods, the smell of tobacco filled the car, a warm musky scent that Gandalf would frequently reek of. He cast a look to the teen from the corner of his eye and cocked a brow, reaching up and drawing the pipe from between his lips again. There was a small twinkle in the older man's eyes.

"What, everything?" He choked on the smoke in his mouth, "Far too eager and curious for someone you're age. Most unnatural..."

* * *

The car trundled over the roads finally meeting the small town that lay hidden in the lush green valleys of Hobbiton. The Shire was a quiet rural setting away from the bustling cities and hierarchies of the royals. It was a welcome reprieve from the surrounding Middle-Earth. Well what could Gandalf say really? Life in the wider world went on as it always had the past age. It was full of its own comings and goings, perhaps even unaware of the existence of the rural wonder that lay tucked away to the East. Something for which Gandalf was very thankful for. The Mercedes continued on its cruise through the roads, the vehicle seemed to dwarf them. Many of the inhabitants of the Shire would stop and look toward the sleek machine with glaring inquisitive eyes. No one around these parts had a vehicle like it, most were all rusted old coopers or old trucks to aid them in their farm work. The Mercedes passed through the centre of the village, past the local tavern; The Green Dragon Inn. A place where many of Hobbiton's inhabitants frequented on a nightly basis. A small thing but a great place with good ale. From their seat in the car they drove past the large field which, at the current moment in time, was teaming with people. People setting out long benches, people decorating the low hanging branches of the trees, hanging strings of lights through the hedges, setting seats for the people that would line the tables. In the midst a large banner was being hung from the side of an old lorry. In delicate scrawl were the words; Happy Birthday Bilbo Baggins.

"Ah..." Gandalf finally broke the silence, "The long expected party. So, how is the old rascal? I hear it's going to be a party of special magnificence?"

"You know Bilbo..." Frodo rolled his eyes, "He's got the whole place in an uproar."

"Oh, well. That should please him!"

"Half the Shire's been invited."

"Good gracious, me," Gandalf choked on the smoke again. He cast a look to the teen beside him who seemed downcast. His brow cocked again.

"He's up to something..." Frodo muttered in a low tone.

"Oh really?" Gandalf quickly focused back on the road ahead of them, keeping the car steady on the bumpy road. The car wasn't built for this form of work. Although a sleek thing it wasn't young.

"Alright then," Frodo suddenly heaved, "Keep your secrets. Before you came along we Bagginses were very well thought of."

"Indeed?"

"Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected."

"If you're referring to the incident with the Dragon...I was barely involved. All I did was give your Uncle a little nudge out of the door." Gandalf could remember back to those days fondly. Oh what an adventure that had been...especially that old man they had run into-the man they now dubbed the Dragon. What a horrible creature the man was.

"Whatever you did," Frodo pointed out, "You've been officially labelled as a disturber of the peace."

"Oh really...?" Gandalf's brows rose high as they continued their journey. Gandalf glanced out the car window to see a familiar face staring at the vehicle. Wasn't that Odo Proudfoot? Why was he looking at him so suspiciously? They continued through the small village, taking twisted turns and alleys through the houses and buildings. The Mercedes turned down a slim alley, so slim Gandalf didn't believe the vehicle small enough to fit however he persisted and indeed the car did fit. It trundled down the laneway, a number of children emerged from an alley and called out. They pointed at the car and began to follow it. No doubt they had never seen anything like it before. Gandalf ignored them as the car rolled forward, he noted the looks Frodo was casting him from the passenger seat. Gandalf propped the pipe in his mouth once again before looking to the central console of the car and pressed a button. The trunk of the car sprung open and spinning ball of reds and greens and gold's leapt from the car spiralling high into the air fizzing as they went. The children squealed in delight as they watched the fire crackers twisting in the air. Gandalf gave a small chuckle.

"Gandalf..." Frodo spoke after a moment, propping the cane in the foot well and taking a tight hold of his backpack. "I'm glad you're back." He nodded before thrusting the car door open and leaping out quickly slamming the door shut behind him.

"So am I, dear boy...so am I." Gandalf grinned as the car continued forward.

* * *

The Mercedes continued on its ascent up a large single hill where a small home dwelt, a tall white building with flower boxes hung on every sill, the window closed by curtains, the chimney however was smoking. Someone was home. Gandalf twisted the wheel of the car pulling the vehicle in onto the paved driveway. Shutting off the engine he took hold of his cane and stepped from the vehicle. The air outside was cleaner, cleaner then the city air. Holding the cane tight he kept it close to his side before advancing toward the cottage. A small gate that led to a garden path and to the large round green front door had a small sign hanging from it. 'NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT ON PART BUSINESS.' How typical. Gandalf, ignoring the sign, pushed the gate which creaked loudly and continued up the garden path of Bag End Cottage. Rising the cane up he hammered heavily on the door. There was a moments silence. Nothing but birds and the gentle snaking breeze could be heard. He hammered again.

"No, thank you!" A voice roared from inside, "We don't want any more visitors, well wisher, or distant relations!"

"And what about very old friends?" Gandalf called in response. A pause. The door opened and the short old man stood before him, greying hair but seemingly un-aged and with a mischievous glint still remaining in his eyes. He was a handsome thing really-past the creases in his skin. He was smartly dressed in a white shirt, a dashing red brocade waist code and dark corduroy trousers with tan shoes.

"Gandalf?" The man's eyes squinted against the sunlight.

"Bilbo Baggins!" Gandalf grinned.

"Oh, my dear Gandalf!" Bilbo grinned striding from the house to meet his old friend. They embraced one another. Goodness Gandalf did forget how small Bilbo had shrunk to. He was a tall thing before in his younger days but it seemed youth had seemingly left him.

"It's good to see you," Gandalf nodded as they separated, "One hundred and eleven years old, who would believe it?" Gandalf studied the man. "You haven't aged a day..." The pair shared a laugh.

"Come on, come in!" Bilbo quickly scurried back inside holding the door for Gandalf allowing the taller man entrance. Ducking his head slightly he stepped into Bag End Cottage. "Welcome, welcome!" Bilbo grinned heaving the door closed as soon as they were both inside. The cottage itself was a cosy yet cluttered place every shelf laden with souvenirs of his travels, adventures he had taken. The rafters of the ceilings were high enough to allow Bilbo to stand tall but for Gandalf himself they were just slightly too low. He had to stoop. Reaching to his head he popped the Fedora off his head Bilbo responded by snatching the hat and cane from him and propping them near the door before trotting away disappearing down the hallway.

"Tea?" Bilbo called over his shoulder, "Or maybe something stronger? I've a few bottles of the Old Winyard left, 1296...a very good year, almost as old as I am. It was laid down by my father. What say we open one, eh?"

Gandalf watched the man disappear into the kitchen. It was nice to simply enjoy the simplicity and familiarity of the old cottage. It was warm, the walls were always good at holding the heat, a small fire was sparking in the fire place as if it was needed in this warm weather. Turning Gandalf felt his brow connect heavily with one of the lower hanging beams. He groaned loudly.

"I was expecting you some time last week," Bilbo called from somewhere in the tunnels of the cottage, "Not that it matters," He chuckled, "You come and go as you please, always have done, always will. You've caught me a bit unprepared, I'm afraid. We've only got cold chicken, bit of pickle, some cheese here...ooh, no, that might be a little risky."

Gandalf wondered from the open main hall into the living area where the fire was spuffing. The desk in the room was strewn with papers, old maps, documents. It was the framed map that caught his attention the most. It was charred in one corner. He remembered this very well. The Lonely Mountain. A small smile crossed the old man's lips. Bilbo was still talking.

"Err, we've got raspberry jam and apple tart. Got some custard somewhere. Not much for Afters, I'm afraid. Oh no, we're alright! I've just found some sponge cake. Nice little snack. Hope it's enough. I could do you some eggs if you like?"

Bilbo appeared in the arch way that looked into the living room to find it empty. He scowled. Gandalf was here wasn't he? He looked to the half eaten pie in his hand...was the pork gone off?

"Just tea, thank you," Gandalf's voice sounded behind him. He jumped and spun.

"Oh right..." He smiled before shoving the remaining pie into his mouth. "Youdon'tmindif," The words were muddled through the pie. Gandalf sat into one of the chairs at the large old oak dining table. He didn't understand what Bilbo was trying to get out but none the less he responded with;

"No, not at all. Go ahead."

There was a loud heavy rapping on the front door. Gandalf's brow creased. What on earth?

"Bilbo Baggins, you open this door. I know you're in there."

Bilbo nearly choked on his pie as he collapsed back against a wall attempting to hide himself from the view of every available window in sight-it was a good thing the curtains were drawn.

"I'm not at home!" Bilbo hissed. "I've got to get away from these confounded relatives, hanging on the bell all day, never giving me a moment's peace! I want to see mountains again...mountains, Gandalf...and then find somewhere quiet where I can finish my book...oh the tea!" Bilbo scurried across the kitchen again and toward the old stove where the kettle sat atop. Snatching a towel from the rail he lifted the kettle off the flame and carried it across the kitchen

"So you mean to go through with your plan, then?"

"Yes, yes...it's all in hand. All the arrangements are made."

"...Frodo suspects something."

"'Course he does, he's a Baggins. Not some block headed Bracegridle from Hardbottle."

"You will tell him won't you?"

"Yes. Yes."

"He's very fond of you."

"I know. He'd probably come with me if I asked him. I think, in his heart, Frodo's still in love with the Shire, the woods and the fields...those little rivers." Bilbo, after pouring the cups of tea, had set the kettle back on the open flame of the hob before crossing the kitchen and peering out the window between the cracks of the curtains. "I am old, Gandalf."

They both were.

"I know I don't look it, but I'm beginning to feel it in my heart." Gandalf watched the man carefully, his movements had become slow now, secretive, his eyes shifted to a distant faraway gaze. His hand had shifted into the pocket of the waistcoat. What was in that pocket?

"I feel thin...sort of stretched, like butter that's been scraped over too much bread. I need a holiday...a very long holiday and I don't expect I shall return...in fact I mean not to."

Gandalf knew. He knew everything but he said nothing.

* * *

The rest of that afternoon had been spent avoiding Bilbo's relatives and catching up on old times. Bilbo had taken a particular shine to Gandalf's car. They sat now on the edge of the garden, the car lay outside the cottage and the two old men now sat atop a small wooden bench under the kitchen window. From their vantage they could see the final preparations of the big birthday celebration taking place in the field at the town centre far below. Bilbo struck a match and finally lit the end of his cigar.

"Old Toby," He grinned taking a long pull from the cigar, "The finest in the Southfarthing."

Bilbo took a number of pulls on the end of the cigar before sitting back and heaving a large smoke ring from his lips. Gandalf cocked a brow. Impressive. He took a long pull n the pipe in his mouth and sat back, straightened his back and expelled the smoke from his lips. Through the ring of smoke a sail ship with masts and sails ploughed through the air direct through the centre of Bilbo's ring. Bilbo scowled a moment and turned to Gandalf before smirking and putting the cigar back inside his mouth.

"Gandalf, my old friend," Bilbo said slowly, "This will be a night to remember..."

* * *

Crack! A firework exploded in the centre of the night sky high above the Shire town. It was the spectacular shape of a great green tree its large branches unfolding in a flash of sparkling light. Glowing flowers rained down from the sky in its wake. The people looked up with eager pleased faces. 144 people in all had filled the town square. They feasted, the drank and the tables were piled high with scones. Gandalf had tossed his trench coat over a fence rail, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up as he lit the fireworks. Bilbo was more than occupied greeting the guests. Frodo sat at one of the tables, his closest friend, Samwise Gamgee, was next to him. They both held a can of alcohol each. Luckily they were just the age to enjoy the ale. Frodo had dressed in his finest, a shirt, tie and pants much like the rest of the party goers. Frodo noticed Sam's eyes elsewhere though-they were focused solely on the girl who was dancing through the crowd. A pretty thing with a freckled face and long wavy blonde hair. She was dressed in a close fitting dress that Sam was drinking in. Rosie Cotton was her name. A lovely girl, worked in the local bar and Sam had eyes for her since they had finished high school.

"Go on Sam!" Frodo urged with a roll of his eyes, "Ask Rosie for a dance."

"I think I'll just have another can," Sam's eyes grew wide as he quickly rose from his seat and attempted to shuffle away from his friend. Frodo leapt up from his seat and grabbed hold of Sam quickly turning him from his current path toward the open bar and back toward where the people danced.

"Oh no you don't. Go on." Frodo growled tossing the boy forward. Sam stumbled into the centre of the dancers, only to be swept away by Rosie Cotton herself. Of course. Frodo laughed loudly before looking back to the table where Sam had left his can, plucking it up Frodo obliged to finish. He didn't fancy it going warm. Frodo was contented to sit alone now, he had no idea where the other two had disappeared to. They had mentioned something about...fireworks? They'd better not interfere with Gandalf's. The man would skin them if they touched anything of his. Sam was actually relaxing now with Rosie. No big deal-the pair were born for one another just needed to admit it. After a long moment and another number of can's Frodo rose from the table and began to wonder through the guests. Many said hello and greeted him as he passed. They were all turned out in their finest. Frodo's eyes finally landed on Bilbo wondering the crowd. Forcing himself forward he quickened his pace and caught up to him. There was a shrill scream from somewhere in the town. Frodo spun and looked up at the light that flashed up into the night sky illuminating the world like it were day light. That was new. The rockets burst in the blackness only to form the shape of a great red and golden dragon. Fire spewed from its nostrils as it spun in the air before turning and flying low toward the on-looking crowd. What on earth?! Frodo quickly turned and grabbed hold of his uncle who was still oblivious to the panicking crowd.

"Bilbo!" Frodo urged over the screams, "Watch out for the dragon!"

"Dragon? Nonsense," Bilbo scoffed, "Hasn't ever been a dragon in these parts."

Frodo ignored the man's mumblings before eventually grabbed hold of the man and pulling him to the floor. The dragon roared overhead swooping low over the crowd. Everyone ducked to the floor as the dragon swept overhead. The dragon sparked before exploding with a deafening bang that filled the entirety of the valley. Everyone remained silent a long moment before erupting into cheers. It may have been terrifying but it was impressive. It didn't take long before people were demanding a speech from the Birthday man himself.

"Speech!" Frodo urged along with everyone else. He sat again at one of the benches, the band had stepped down from the stage and the dancers had dispersed for now. Everyone was indulging in the food and drink. Bilbo shuffled about before finally clambering onto the back of one of the Brandybuck's pickups.

"My dear Bagginses, and Boffins, Tooks and Brandybucks...Bruggs, Chubbs, Hornblowers, Bolgers, Bracegirdles and Proudfoots."

"Proudfeet!" Odo Proudfoot corrected from the crowd. Frodo chuckled.

"Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday!"

Cheers of congratulations and 'happy birthday' erupted.

"Yes and alas...Eleventy-one years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable people. I don't know half of you half as well as I should like and I like less than half of you as well as you deserve."

There was a mixed reaction of cheers and mutters of confusion. Was that a compliment? Frodo grinned-he knew exactly what it had meant. Now though Bilbo was stumbling as though he wasn't sure to say, as though he was nervous. Frodo felt a frown creeping on his brow. Was he sweating? What was he fiddling with in his hands?

"I regret to announce...this is the end. I am going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell." Bilbo's eyes found Frodo's through the crowd. What did he mean? What was happening? Was this a prank? Where was he going? "Goodbye," Bilbo gave a faint smile in Frodo's direction before...he vanished. Vanished? What? Frodo leapt up from his seat and scanned the guests. He half expected to see his Uncle chuckling as he crept through the crowd. The crowd too erupted into chaos. This couldn't be? No one was able to just vanish! That was like magic! Magic didn't exist. It just couldn't be true. Frodo scrambled. People were looking to him as he knew what was happening. If anyone knew what was happening Frodo knew it would be Gandalf. He had spent near the entire day with his uncle. Frodo turned now attempting to find the man, or at least find the Mercedes.

* * *

After being unable to locate his uncle, Frodo was quick to relent in his search and opted to return home. The party was still in chaos but he had and didn't want anything to do with it. Would his uncle have opted to go home? He rushed up the hill now toward the white painted cottage. It was quiet. There was a faint light coming from the living room area, Frodo could see it through the curtains.

"Bilbo! Bilbo!" Frodo called ascending the steps. Reaching the front door he shoved the heavy thing open and looked inside. The home was dark the only light was coming from the living room, there was a faint sound of the TV too. Frodo glanced toward the living room only to feel a lump beneath his foot. Stepping back Frodo looked down to the small golden object that was sitting on the floor, abandoned. Stooping he picked up the ring. It was only then he noticed the trench coat hung over the back of one of the chairs, his cane rested against the desk in the room, he puffed on a pipe. The room was filled with smoke now, his back remained to Frodo.

"He's gone hasn't he?" Frodo asked stepping into the living room ,the ring still in hand. "He talked for so long about leaving...I didn't think he'd really do it." Gandalf was muttering quietly to himself, not taking notice of the teen next to him. Why would he not talk to Frodo? "Gandalf?" Finally the man was brought from his thoughts. He turned and instantly his eyes found the ring in Frodo's grasp. He gave a faint half smile before pulling the pipe from his mouth.

"Bilbo's ring," The man smiled, "He's gone to live his days out elsewhere. He's left you Bag End."

"What?" Frodo scowled. He was eighteen about to leave school he didn't have the need or want to have his own house as of yet. What about college? What about all the travels that Bilbo had promised him? Gandalf rose from his seat now, setting his pipe aside and looking to the desk in the room snatching up a blank empty envelope and extending it to Frodo.

"Along with all his possessions." Gandalf finished ignoring the alarmed teen before him. Frodo watched him a long moment before finally bringing his hand up and dropping the ring into the depth of the open awaiting envelope. "The ring is yours now. Put it somewhere out of sight."

The old man was beginning to ruse around the room and gather his own possessions. He snatched up his trench coat and slung it over his shoulders, extinguished his pipe and popped it in his pocket before grabbing his fedora off the table and popping it on his head.

"Wait. Where are you going?" Frodo scowled.

"I have some things I must see to."

"What things?"

Gandalf grabbed his cane and held it firm in his hand before looking to Frodo seriously. "Questions. Questions that need answering." There was a wild look in the old man's eyes that Frodo wasn't appreciating. What things? That didn't answer his question. In fact what questions? What was going on? Bilbo vanishes and now Gandalf was leaving too?

"You've only just arrived," Frodo pointed out. Gandalf fled the living room and into the hall. Frodo scurried after him. "I don't understand..." Frodo finally muttered. Gandalf's hand was on the door handle however he paused and turned slowly to face Frodo.

"Neither do I," He sighed heavily, the wild look was gone now, "Keep it secret. Keep it safe." Gandalf turned now and vanished out the door leaving it swinging. Frodo stood a moment the envelope in hand. He cast a disgruntled look to it before rushing out the door after the old man.

"Wait!" He called only to witness the sleek Mercedes zooming down the roads into the village before vanishing from sight. What did it all mean?

* * *

The next number of days passed with little to no events. Many watched Frodo now with sceptical eyes after the events that had transpired at the party almost a week ago. He sat on his bike, stopped on the road a brief moment his eyes on the iPod in his hands flicking through the selection of music once again. Glancing up briefly he noted Sam disappearing down the road on his own bike back toward home. He gave a last wave as the sandy haired boy vanished into the darkness of the night. There had been no word from Gandalf. Nothing at all from Bilbo and Frodo was left to fend for himself. Finding an adequate song he propped his feet back on the peddles and pushed off again. The hill up to Bag End was a steep and irritating thing, it was a good thing Frodo was used to it. Finally he cycled onto the drive, swung off the bike allowing it to flop onto the manicured stonework before turning and wondering toward the house. His eyes were once again down on the iPod as he pushed through the gate and trotted up the steps toward the front door. Thrusting it open he reached up and threw his hood down, slung the backpack from his shoulder and tossed it aside. He paused. The house was dark, black. Silent. Something wasn't right. Reaching up he pulled one of the earphones from his ears and peered into the living area, down the corridor that led to the kitchen and what had been Bilbo's study.

"Hello?" He called. Daft really. Who would be there? A hand clamped down onto his shoulder. He cried out, dropping the iPod hearing it shatter on the floor before spinning to see the culprit. Gandalf. He relaxed somewhat when he realized the person familiar however...what was wrong? Gandalf was filthy his clothing stained with sweat and dust, his usual slicked back hair unkempt now, his beard an extra week of growth. Wow he really was beginning to look like a wizard now. However what was most disturbing was the look of unbridled paranoia in his eyes.

"Is it secret? Is it safe?" He demanded. What? The ring. Where had Frodo left it? He searched the house while the paranoid Gandalf jumped at every noise from outside. Cars rolling down the road would make him leap in the air, his hands clutched the cane tightly as though he was about to start swinging. Frodo had searched the living room first, then the kitchen before finally pausing to think. Where would he have put it? It wasn't in his bedroom. The study? He fled down the hall and pulled the heavy door open looking around. The desktop stood unused now on the desk, books and papers were, as usual, strewn across the room. Why couldn't Bilbo use the bookshelves? Frodo looked to the large chest in the corner and crossed the room. Dropping to his knees he heaved the lid open and rummaged through. He located the envelope, it was a tad crumpled now though. As soon as his hand sourced it, it was snatched from him by Gandalf who rushed back to the living room. Frodo quickly followed after him. What on earth was this all about? Gandalf moved to the fireplace-had he started the fire? He tossed the envelope into the flames.

"What are you doing?!" Frodo moved to grab the envelope back from the flames but was prevented by the old man. The envelope didn't take long before it burned away revealing the solid gold ring in the flames. It was sinking into the embers of the fire. Why? Gandalf didn't speak a word. His grey eyes were fixed on the ring in the flames. They stood in silence. What was that smell? Frodo noted it must have been the old man-he reeked. Gandalf moved now and fished the ring from the flames using a pair of tongs.

"Hold out your hand, Frodo." He urged. Frodo hesitated. "It's quite cool," Gandalf encouraged again extending the ring clutched in the tongs teeth. Well of course he'd say that! He hadn't touched the damned thing. Frodo lifted his hand and held it out. The ring plopped into his hand. Wow. It was heavy. Gandalf disposed of the tongs before turning and standing tall his eyes turning to the living room window now.

"What can you see? Can you see anything?" He asked. Frodo looked to the heavy object in his hand and studied it. It was a gold ring. What did Gandalf expect him to say?

"Nothing," Frodo shook his head, turning the ring around in his hands. He was amazed at how cool the metal was. "There's nothing." He was ready to put the ring back in the chest and forget it was even there, Gandalf was acting like a crazy old...wizard. Like the ones from those fantasy films he had watched time and time again. He continued to look at the ring on the verge of rolling his eyes until he noticed something. "Wait..." He muttered. A frown creased his brow. What was this? The golden band changed now, letter like burning fire appeared in the gold glowing a hearty red. What was this? "There are markings," Frodo scowled. Was this one of Bilbo's old pantomime tricks that he'd use to impress the kids of the town? The letters looked like a load of gibberish. They weren't even a language. Frodo couldn't even make out where to start to try and read it. "I can't read it though."

"There are few now who can..." Gandalf muttered turning to look across at the teen. "The language is that of a dark time, which I will not utter here." A dark time? Frodo looked up. "In our language it read, 'One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them, One ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them."

What on earth? Frodo would much have rathered spent his afternoon catching up on some of the TV programmes he had been missing. Did Gandalf seriously expect him to believe that? Frodo watched the man in utter disbelief.


	2. A Shortcut to Mushrooms

**A SHORTCUT TO MUSHROOMS**

The golden ring now sat at the centre of the kitchen table. Frodo sat heavily in one seat across from Gandalf. The man had removed his coat. Was that blood on his sleeves? In fact Frodo would rather not know. Disturber of the Peace? Yeah that was pretty apt currently.

"This ring was forged by the dark lord, Sauron."

"Wait," Frodo interrupted. "Magic rings and dark lords? Come on Gandalf. This isn't a fantasy world."

"Take heed Frodo. This ring was stolen by Isildur from the hand of the dark lord himself."

"Sauron right?" Frodo cocked his brows now. What rubbish.

"Frodo look at your uncle. He has had possession of this ring for near 60 years now, it had prolonged his life, delayed old age. You don't honestly think living to 111 years old is normal now do you?"

"Well...no..."

"Precisely my point. Evil is stirring in Mordor. The ring has awoken, Frodo. It's heard it's masters call."

This day had changed from an uneventful Monday to a scarefest being provided by none other than Gandalf himself. Evil? Mordor? Who the hell was Isildur? As if a ring could feel things. Frodo eyed the object sat heavily on the table, he had felt the weight as it had dropped into his hand, seen it change before his very eyes. The moment of silence was shattered when Frodo heard a faint low whisper of an indecipherable language. Was this Gandalf's idea of a joke? However Frodo realized it wasn't the old man across the table from him. His eyes darted to the ring sat on the table top. Was it...speaking?

"Sauron has endured, his life bound to the ring. He is seeking it, seeking it, all his thought bent on it. For the ring earns, above all else, to return to the hand of its master. They are one, the ring and the dark lord."

Frodo reached out and snatched the ring off the table, that weight again. The whispering silenced.

"This is ridiculous. You can't honestly expect me to believe this?" He growled marching from the kitchen. The sound of a chair grating on the stone sounded behind him as Gandalf rose to follow. Frodo stepped into the living room. "We'll just put it away, keep it hidden! Never speak of it again. No one knows it's here, do they?" Frodo was growing uncomfortable, was he actually falling for this? Although he had wished all his life to have something more exciting happen this just wasn't adding up. He turned and looked around to the old man stepping into the living room behind him. He seemed uncomfortable.

"Do they Gandalf?"

The old man's eyes turned sorrowful.

"There is one other who knew that Bilbo had the ring. I looked everywhere for him. Gollum...but the enemy found him first."

What? Who was Gollum? People would be looking for it?

"I don't know how long they tortured him...but amidst the endless screams and inane babble, they discerned two words. Shire. Baggins."

Frodo felt his stomach drop out of his body, his heart throb loudly. This wasn't funny anymore. Whatever game Gandalf was playing Frodo wasn't buying it. "Shire? Baggins? That would lead 'them' here!" Who was 'them'? Frodo had enough he took a step toward Gandalf and held the ring out. "Take it! Take it!" He demanded. He wanted nothing to do with it. Gandalf was sincere with every word he spoke, even if he wished not to speak them. He wasn't lying.

"No Frodo..." The old man scowled drawing back from the ring.

"You have to take it!"

"You cannot offer me this ring."

"I'm giving it to you-just take it!"

"Don't tempt me, Frodo!" Gandalf barked a dark expression crossing his brow. He brushed past the teen and held his eyes on the window of the living room. Why wouldn't he just take it? In fact he had never touched it? It was just a ring wasn't it...? "I dare not take it," Gandalf's tone softened now, "Not even to keep it safe. Understand Frodo. I would use this ring from a desire to do good...but through me, it would wield a power too great and terrible to imagine."

Frodo scowled. Through him? All that talk of being a wizard...

"But it cannot stay in the Shire!"

"No," Gandalf turned to look at the boy again, "No it can't."

Frodo hesitated a long moment looking to the ring in his hand. It grew heavier now. The whispered almost...calling to him. He closed his fingers around the jewellery piece before looking to Gandalf. "What must I do?"

"You must leave," Gandalf stepped past him now, "And leave quickly. Get out of the Shire."

Frodo spun as Gandalf led him to his bedroom. The room was a dishevelled mess, clothes laid about the room in ungraceful heaps, books and unfinished homework on the cluttered desk, a prop sword and green cloak he had gotten from a comic-con not too long back. Paintings of elves and heroes from his fantasy stories lined the wall. Frodo was met with a t-shirt to the face as Gandalf began to pull clothes from his wardrobe. Quickly Frodo grabbed his backpack and stuffed the t-shirt in. His mind was racing. What was happening? He couldn't wrap his mind around it but Gandalf seemed urgent and above all-deathly serious.

"Where? Where should I even go?" Frodo asked stuffing another pair of jeans in the bag.

"Make for the town of Bree."

"Bree?" Wasn't that the town near the river? Bilbo had always warned him not to go there. It was a town full of drunks, drugs and crime. "What about you?"

"I will be waiting at the Prancing Pony hotel."

"And the ring will be safe there?"

"No. I don't have any answers. I must seek the head of my order. He is wise and powerful. Trust me Frodo, he'll know what to do."

They left the bedroom and entered the kitchen. Frodo stuffed a number of items in his bag before striding into the living room-following the old man. Gandalf brushed the hair back from his face.

"You'll have to leave the name of Baggins behind. That name isn't safe outside the Shire."

Frodo jerked the sleeve of his jacket over his shoulder-his name couldn't be used?

"Travel only by day and stay off the train and busses, main roads will be dangerous."

"I can cut across country easily enough." Frodo nodded-he had his bike. Bilbo had just bought him that very bike for the previous Christmas, it was a hardy thing. Why hadn't he learned how to drive? Frodo turned and looked up to Gandalf who peered down to him before giving a warm smile.

"My dear Frodo, you truly are an amazing thing. You can learn all there is to about someone and yet, after a hundred years, they still surprise you."

A hundred years? It was as though finally when things were making sense Gandalf stripped it all away. There was a clang from outside. Both turned and stared at the open window. Gandalf froze.

"Get down," He hissed. Snatching his cane from near the fireplace the old man held it firm in his hands moving toward the window, quietly. What was he going to do? It was probably that blasted cat of the Bolgers. It was always sneaking through the window to raid the fridge. Gandalf neared the window and leant carefully out before striking his cane down. There was a yelp of pain and surprise. Gandalf disposed of his staff now and reached out the window. With almost inhumane strength he hauled the young form of Samwise Gamgee through the window and slammed him down onto the desk.

"Confound it all! Samwise Gamgee, have you been eavesdropping?" Gandalf roared. He was furious. Frodo wondered what the hell Sam had been doing outside the window anyway.

"I ain't been dropping no eaves, sir!" Sam spluttered, he had always been unsure of Gandalf-like most. Seems to have been for good reason. "Honest. I was just cutting the grass under the window there, it you follow me..."

Sam did always help with the gardening for Bilbo-he was a natural at it. He had always had a great interest in herbs too.

"It's a little late for trimming the verge, don't you think?" Gandalf growled his hands propping on his hips. Frodo glanced out the window. It was as black as night out there.

"I heard raised voices..." Sam finally admitted.

"What did you hear?" Gandalf demanded, "Speak!" The last word was so sharp it made Sam and Frodo jump from their skins.

"Nothing important!" Sam defended, "That is...I heard a good deal about a ring...and a dark lord..something about the end of the world...but please Mr. Gandalf. Sir. Don't hurt me."

Gandalf stood a long moment, one of his furry brows popping up. "No?" He said slowly. Frodo grinned. He knew that tone.

"Perhaps not..." Gandalf mused bringing his hands from his hips he stroked his beard thoughtfully with a single hand. "I've thought of a better use for you."

* * *

The next morning was a chilly and misty start. Frodo couldn't recall the last time he had ever risen this early. He sat silently on the wall, Sam next to him their bikes flopped on the floor. Both had a backpack full of clothes and food and cash. Gandalf had been good enough to grant them that. Gandalf rose tall now from the trunk of his car and reached up closing the trunk with a loud clunk. He clutched the cane close, keeping it near his leg, a brace of steel around his knee. He hobbled along and looked down to Frodo and Sam.

"Be careful," He muttered after a long moment, "Both of you. The enemy has many spies in his service, many ways of hearing..."

Frodo would indulge Gandalf and bring the ring to him in Bree but he still attempted to wrap his head around all of it. Spies? Why on earth would anyone care about a teenager like him? Sam leapt off the wall and reached down grabbing his bike hauling it up. Gandalf turned to Frodo now, lowering his voice.

"Is it safe?" He muttered.

Frodo looked to his jean pocket and patted it before nodding.

"Never ever put it on. The agents of the dark lord will be drawn to its power. Always remember Frodo, the ring is trying to get back to its master...it wants to be found..." Frodo was on the verge of arguing. A ring couldn't possess thoughts. Gandalf spun, as quickly as his leg would allow and hobbled back to the car disappearing into the grey shell before pulling away from the spot they had stopped in the woods. The car roared to life, his tyres screeching over the gravel as it sprinted off down the road. Frodo looked after the car before heaving a sigh. It was still cold. Reaching to the zip of his hoody he pulled it higher before casting a look to Sam. Sam currently munched on a twix cocking his brows.

* * *

They set off, cycling down the back roads of Hobbiton. Actually Frodo could get used to the early mornings, there was no one up yet. Everywhere was quite, the tractors weren't in the fields yet, the cars were nowhere on the road. It was peaceful. The sun broke over the horizon bathing the land in a cool golden hue. Mesmerizing. For a moment Frodo actually felt as though he was a hero, like the ones in his stories. The tyres of his bike grinded over the dirt as he descended down a hill, rising from his seat to avoid the seat battering his backside. There was a squeal of tyres from behind. Frodo glanced back and noticed Sam still atop the bank. What was he doing? He seemed uncertain, the chubby boy with sandy hair was hesitant now.

"This is it," Sam heaved, his fingers clutching the handlebars of the bike. It was an old thing in comparison to Frodo's. A rusted thing that he had gotten when he was younger.

"This is what?" Frodo scowled.

"If I go any further...it'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been."

Frodo smirked before gesturing the boy to descend the bank after him. Hesitantly Sam allowed his bike to drift down the bank drawing level with his friend. Frodo reached out and clamped a hand down on the boy's shoulder.

"Come on, Sam," He grinned, "Remember what Bilbo used to say? It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road and if you don't keep your feet? There's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

* * *

The Mercedes drifted easily over the road toward its destination, into the forested estate of Isengard. Here was where the head of his order resided. Nestled in the foot of a basin near the Misty Mountain range, the large old Victorian home of Orthanc came into view at the end of a gravelled drive. It was a tall looming thing among the forested estate. A great wall encircled the estate, near a mile from one side to the next, protecting the estate from the people that would wish the trees and gardens harm. The gardens were renowned throughout Middle-Earth and all, seemingly, because of the water from streams that flowed down from the mountains. The Mercedes drew to a slow halt outside the large heavy doors of the manor. A man stood at the top of the steps, his white hair swept back a deep contrast to his black pointed brows, beard cut close and kempt, skin craggy but filled with wisdom. He wore a white suit, as always, a silver tie and waistcoat beneath. What an elegant man he truly was. Gandalf pushed the door of the car open and stepped out giving a heavy smile. The drive was no short thing. It had taken the better part of the day to get from Hobbiton to Isengard.

"That is why you have come, is it not, my old friend?" the man in white descended the steps, a cane of polished black clutched in his bony hand. Gandalf bowed his head in respect to the man.

"Saruman." Gandalf stood tall as he removed the cane from his car.

Both men wondered throughout the gardens. Gandalf felt grimy in comparison to his friend. Perhaps he should have made a stop and washed before arriving. Saruman seemed none to bothered by it all. His eyes were faraway now as Gandalf finished his description of the previous weeks incidents.

"Are you sure of this?" He asked slowly, his black brows furrowed.

"Beyond any doubt," Gandalf nodded leaning heavily on the cane. Even his cane was shabby in comparison. A simple thing of oak.

"So the ring of power has been found?"

"All these long years it has always been in the Shire. Under my very nose, no less."

"And yet you did not have the wit to see it," Saruman scolded in a cool tone. "Your love of the leaf from the valley has clearly slowed your mind."

Gandalf should have expected as much from his brother in arms. Yes he had taken a particular liking to the Old Toby leaf that grew there but it hadn't deemed him inept to do his duty. "We still have time. Time enough to counter Sauron if we act quickly." Gandalf corrected.

"Time?" Saruman paused in his step now and turned to look at him. How the man in white always made Gandalf feel like a piece of utter dirt. "What time do you think we have?"

They had left the peacefulness of the gardens and returned to the manor. Saruman had to have been deeply disturbed though he was hiding it marvellously, the man never gave anything away. They sat now in a small cluttered room to the side of what was the main hall of the manor. Saruman sat his leg crossed elegantly, his cheek rested on a fist as he sat tall in a high backed chair.

"Sauron has regained much of his former strength, he cannot yet take physical form..but his spirit has lost none of its potency."

Gandalf wondered across the room poking and prodding at the papers and books within while keeping an ear on Saruman's words. So Sauron was growing stronger? What did that mean for Middle-Earth?

"Concealed within his fortress, he sees all. His eyes can pierce cloud, shadow, earth and flesh. You know of what I speak Gandalf...a great Eye, lidless, wreathed in flame."

"The eye of Sauron..." Gandalf was more than unsettled at the thought.

"He's gathering all those evil to him. Very soon he will have summoned an army."

"You know this? How?"

"I have seen it."

Gandalf marched forward toward a room in the rear of the manor. How dare he!

"Its a dangerous tool, Saruman!" He scolded now. Saruman seemed not affected by the words that were thrown from Gandalf's mouth. He cocked a brow as he followed Gandalf. Gandalf noted a tall plinth in the centre of the room a cloth covering an object beneath, the rest of the room was bare.

"Why?" Saruman asked calmly, "Why should we fear to use it?" Saruman reached out and pulled the cloth off the plinth. It revealed an orb, a dark glass that could be barely seen into.

Gandalf knew the exact reason why they shouldn't be used. "They are not all accounted for, the lost seeing stones. We do not know who else may be watching." Gandalf snatched the cloth back from the man in white and recovered the orb.

"The hour is later then you think..." Saruman muttered turning and leaving the room once again, Gandalf spun and followed. "Sauron's forces are already...you are aware that the Nine have left Minas Morgul?"

"The nine?" Gandalf gasped. No.

"They crossed the river Isen on Midsummer's eve..."

"They'll have reached the Shire!" Gandalf was beginning to become unsettled now. Why did Saruman not bare the same worry? All the man before him did was merely shrug his shoulders.

"They will find the ring...and kill the one who carries it."

Kill? Gandalf backed away quickly and turned rushing toward the closest door he could find. It shut. The doors that lined the room all slammed closed keeping him within the room. Was someone out there? Or was Saruman playing these games?

"You did not seriously think a child could contend with the will of Sauron? There are none who can..."

Gandalf realized now.

"Against the power of Mordor, there can be no victory. We must join with him, Gandalf. We must join with Sauron. It would be wise...my friend."

Gandalf stood a moment. His shoulders sagged in despair. He turned to face the man in white who was once again sat in the high backed chair.

"Tell me...friend," Gandalf said slowly. "When did Saruman the Wise abandon reason for madness?" Saruman's expression dropped and fury overtook his face. Gandalf felt his body thrown back without warning. He crashed back against the nearest wall. Saruman's hand was raised out before him. Gandalf quickly rose to his feet, his back would ache in the morning. Reaching out Gandalf snatched the cane and swung it toward Saruman. Saruman was thrown back off his feet. It continued both men battling each other in the old ways. All the poise was stripped away from the man in white in that moment, his aura emitted fury now. Gandalf clutched his cane tightly looking across the room as they both stared at one another. Saruman screamed, eyes blazing madly. The cane was stripped from his grip now, it flew across the room and into Saruman's hand. What was he to do now? His body was thrown to the floor with such crippling force he felt as though his bones would snap.

"I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly, but you have elected the way of pain!" Saruman bellowed.

* * *

Frodo wondered forward, clutching the bike as he went.

"Mr. Frodo? Mr. Frodo!"

He could hear it from behind him. Pausing he turned and noted Sam running after him from around the corner. Frodo cocked a brow. What was wrong with him? It wasn't as though Frodo had vanished.

"I thought I'd lost you," Sam breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"What?"

"It's just something Gandalf said."

That man! "What did he say?"

"He said, 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee. And I don't mean to."

Frodo couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, "Sam we're still in the Shire. What could possibly happen?"

CRASH! Frodo was sent toppling to the side, his bike was flung into a ditch. Sam pushed past the boy and reached to Frodo drawing him back up to his feet. Frodo attempted to suck the breath that had been thrust from his lungs. Two minutes later he was thrust over again as another boy crashed into him.

"Frodo? Merry it's Frodo Baggins." One of the boys that had just appeared laughed. That was Peregrin Took. He was a relative of Frodo's, cousins of sorts he never fully checked out his ancestry. He had rusty colored curls beneath his beanie. He had a scarf thrown around his neck which dangled loosely, He wore a denim jacket over a t-shirt and jeans finished with heavy laced boots. The other boy, slightly taller, was golden haired and round nosed and slim. He wore a canvas jacket over a plaid shirt and jeans a similar pair of boots on his feet.

"Hello Frodo," Merry grinned. Frodo looked to Merry before looking at the other boy they were currently attempting to scramble and collect a variety of vegetables scattered everywhere.

"What's the meaning of this?" Sam demanded attempting to drag Frodo's bike out of the ditch.

"Sam, hold this..." Merry announced shoving a hefty cabbage into Sam's arms.

"Have you been in Farmer Maggot's crop?" All four paused when they heard shouting from somewhere in the crop field and the sound of a quad bike. That would be Farmer Maggot now. Merry and Pippin stooped snatching the remains of their booty before racing away. Frodo looked to Sam in the ditch and extended his hand. Quickly he jerked the boy out of the ditch and together they raced after Merry and Pippin leaving the bikes behind. They quickly caught pace with the other two.

"I don't know why he's so upset," Merry called over his shoulder, "It's only a couple of carrots!"

"And some cabbages...and those three bags of potatoes that we lifted last week! And the mushrooms the week before."

"Yes Pippin, my point it, he's clearly over reacting!" Merry growled. The quad was getting closer, was that dogs? Frodo's heart was racing in his chest. Maggot would know it was them. None the less they didn't want to be caught by him-he was a nasty bastard when he wanted to be.

"Run!" Pippin called out quickly taking the lead. They ran quickly. Pippin emerged quickly leapt over a wall and dropped, Merry following. Frodo skidded to a halt and slammed into the wall casting a look over. The dropped stone was replaced with heavy barbed wire and rotted rails. The fence line gave way to an almighty drop off on the other side. Sam crashed into the back of Frodo. His knees cracked off the stone. The quad was gaining ground-as were the dogs. Frodo quickly scrambled over the wire before throwing himself down the bank. He crashed into the earth, unable to keep his footing and fell heavily-tumbling and rolling. He landed finally on the surface of a dark wooded road on top of a Merry and Pippin shaped heap. He was on the verge of getting up before feeling the weight of Sam land on top of him. They all grunted loudly, quickly untangling themselves.

"That was close," Pippin muttered. Frodo noted the scuffs in the knees of his jeans from where he had hit the stone, he was covered in a healthy covering of dirt and earth and covered in grass stains now. Great. Heaving a sigh he untangled himself from the others and stood up looking up and down the leaf covered road. It was silent. There was nothing...in fact he didn't even recognize where they were.

"Ow...I think I've broken something," Merry grumbled. Frodo cast a look over his shoulder to the teen to see him jerking a carrot from out behind his back-it was cracked in half. He hadn't broken anything.

"Trust a Brandybuck and a Took," Sam scolded sitting up and dusting the dirt off his windbreaker.

"What?" Merry scowled sitting up and shaking the earth from his lengthy hair. "That was just a detour...a shortcut if you want."

"A shortcut? To what?" Sam's brows rose in shook.

"Mushrooms!" Pippin said loudly now. There in the loamy undergrowth was indeed a cluster of small brown mushrooms. Great so now Merry and Pippin were going to get high on top of everything else. Sam, Merry and Pippin all rose to their feet and darted for the mushrooms. Frodo couldn't partake in the joy at that moment in time. He watched the road, hadn't Gandalf warned him about the roads? The breeze grew now, sending the leaves coating the road into a spiral.

"I think we should get off the road..." Frodo muttered quietly. He turned and peered over his shoulder toward the others. They were still busy collecting and picking the mushrooms-they hadn't even heard him. There was a shrill wail-like a scream of an...creature.

"Get off the road!" Frodo turned now and bolted to the others quickly knocking the mushrooms from Sam's grip and sprinting for a bank at the roadside. He could hear the engine of a car now. Frodo dropped down the bank and hid underneath the outcropping of a rotting mossy log-the other three were quick to follow. The huddled together beneath the bank as the sound of a car drew closer. It's engine roared before slowly dying off, the sound of brakes squealing against metal followed. Frodo couldn't see anything, he kept his eyes ahead. A moment ago there had been nothing-no human-no car and now it was stopping right over them. Frodo dared a look over his shoulder and peered through a gap in the rotted wood to see the large shadow of a black SUV standing on the road. Was that a Chevy suburban? The door to the driver's side cracked open and a man stepped out, dressed in a black tactical suit-like something out of a military movie. His face was covered by a mask, a heavy black helmet atop his head with thick heavy set goggles. Frodo couldn't make out anything on his face thanks to all that gear. Was that a gun? Frodo spun where he sat and attempted to remain calm. Who the hell was that? A strange noise filled the air...was that sniffing? It was like something was trying to...smell them out? Was the man making that noise? Beads of sweat were beginning to form on his brow. Just stay still. He cast a look to Pippin as a large black spider clambered onto his shoulder. Worms were playing in the earth at their feet, centipedes slithering across the wood. Footsteps sounded on the road, heavy boots approached. Had they been seen? Frodo dared another look. The man was inches from him, he was ducked onto his hunkers assessing the road looking for...what? The sound of that sniffing continued, it was louder now. Frodo felt something calling out to him. The ring. Without realising he noted the ring in his hands, his hands were trembling with the weight of it. It wanted him to put it on. No he wasn't meant to. It was drawing nearer and nearer his finger. Shit. What the hell was happening to him? He shut his eyes. He wished it to all just go away. A hand grabbed at him. The man on the road? No. Sam. Frodo snapped his eyes open and jerked the ring away from his awaiting finger. Merry suddenly leant out and hurled a small sack of their mushrooms across the road. The man in the tactical armor rose, sprinted to his SUV and the engine roared to life reversing quickly to investigate the sound.

* * *

They had fled-quickly. Ran into the woods away from the road, Frodo wanted nothing to do with it, they had lost their bikes and a good degree of the food in their backpacks when they had fallen down that hill. Merry and Pippin had opted to follow them. Night was drawing in now, it was hard to see where the hell you were going. Pippin had luckily produced a flashlight from his satchel. Frodo ran ahead with the light in hand attempting to find the river. If they could find that then they could follow it to Bree...right? The ground was muddy, they slipped and slid across it. Frodo skidded, managing to just catch himself on a tree before he fell to the floor.

"Anything?" Sam called from behind.

"Nothing." Frodo called after a long moment of surveying the trees with the flashlight.

"Ugh, what is going on?" Pippin wined as he stomped forward before bending low and leaning on his knees. For such a skinny fellow he surprisingly wasn't very fit.

"That guy in black was looking for something...or someone...Frodo?" That was Merry's voice from behind him. Frodo paused and looked across to his friend who eyed him carefully.

"Get down!" Sam barked. All four dropped quickly, Frodo fell behind the cover of the tree attempting to find the switch for the damned light. He dared a look around the tree to see a pair of headlights peering through the trees, the silhouette of the large SUV stood on a ridge in the forest. Frodo finally found the switch and flicked the light off. They all held their breath-as though that might help. After a moment the SUV drifted away.

"I have to leave the Shire...Sam and I must get to Bree," Frodo looked to Merry.

"The fuck have you gotten yourself into?" Merry shook his head. "Follow me!" All four rose to their feet quickly and bolted through the trees, Frodo had given the flashlight to Merry and allowed him to guide them. He seemed to know where they were going. They ran through the woods, the mud lapping at their shoes, breath's turned into white clouds as a chill set in. There was a roar of an engine. Not of the SUV this time thought. It was a dirt bike-a black off road thing. A man in black sat atop identical to the one they had witnessed in the SUV. Frodo felt his heart drop as he collapsed to the floor the bike in front of him.

"This way!" Merry barked over the grinding of the bike's engine. Frodo scrambled in the mud, rose to his feet and bolted. There was that shrill scream again. What the hell was that? Frodo paid no mind and ran on now. The trees would make it difficult for the bike to pass, the ground wouldn't help-that would give them some time. Some. All four ran. Leaves from low hanging branches smacked him as he passed, he reached out attempting to bat them away. He couldn't count how many times he nearly fell in the mud. The sound of the bikes engine and that awful shriek filled the night air. Frodo could hear through it all-water. The river. The Brandywine River. Thank god. Frodo pushed himself onward. Pippin was close behind Merry who was in the lead, Sam behind Pippin. A small cottage appeared through the trees, near the river. A jetty was extended out into the inky waters, a number of row boats lining it.

"Come on!" Merry called out again. They were met with a chain link fence. Pippin and Merry were quick to scurry over the top, Sam followed. They bolted for the boats. Merry leapt into the one at the Pier's end. It was a small rubber thing with an engine. It would do. Problem? No keys. Merry cracked a hand against the panel below the steering wheel and began to fiddle with the wires. Pippin and Sam were swiftly attempting to unfasten the boat from the pier itself. Lights flickered on in the cottage. Frodo ran. His heart was racing and his clothes stuck to him uncomfortably from the sweat that poured down him. The sound of the dirt bike was behind him-gaining on him. The driver seemed to have picked a suitable way through the woods. They wouldn't get over the fence though. Frodo counted his strides carefully and leapt toward the fence getting a grip on the chain links and scurrying over. He landed heavily with a grunt. The bike skidded to a halt. But it wasn't over the man swung his leg and dismounted the bike. Shit. Frodo rose again.

"Frodo!" Sam bellowed from the boat. The engine was chugging now. Frodo ran across the grass toward the jetty. There was a snap. He ducked instinctively. Was that a gun? He dared a look over his shoulder to see the man in black had crashed open the main gates of the dock with his bike and was quickly speeding after. Frodo didn't think his legs could carry him much further.  
"Frodo come on!" Pippin squealed from the motorboat which was beginning to drift away from the jetty. Frodo made a last effort-sneakers crashing against the wooden boards of the jetty. He leapt. He was overjoyed when he felt the soft surface of the rubber boat rush to meet him. There was a loud squeal as the dirt bike came to a grinding halt at the jetty's end. Merry was swift in putting the boat to gear and they took off down the river. Frodo was helped to his feet by Sam. They watched the man in black on the pier. There was another monstrous shriek.

"What is that?" Pippin asked. Frodo didn't know. He didn't know what was going on at all.

"How far to Bree?" Frodo looked to Merry.

"About 20 miles," Merry responded, "Hope this thing has enough fuel."

Frodo turned his eyes back to the jetty and saw the man on the dirt bike vanishing back toward the woods, two more dirt bikes with men all dressed similarly rushed past the road at the end of the laneway. The third bike spun round to meet them and together they all vanished into the night. Frodo heaved a sigh and slumped down onto the rubber side of the boat.


	3. At The Sign of The Prancing Pony

**AT THE SIGN OF THE PRANCING PONY**

They had abandoned the boat, there was a series of rapids that Merry was more than uncomfortable navigating, that and Pippin would have expelled the contents of his stomach if they had even tried. They left the boat, covered it in ferns and kept close to the road following it near enough toward Bree. The night was broken by the lights of the town, it was a small thing most of the buildings constructed from cheap stone or timber at the base of a low wooded hill. That said a thick lining of hedges surrounded the town in a bid to keep it 'cleaner'. Yeah that seemed to work well didn't it? The town was riddled with lowlifes and drug abusers. The hedge all connected round to the large iron gates that remained closed. What was it a medieval town? Frodo leant heavily on a tree, his hood pulled up over his head. The rain pissed down on them now-great they were drenched, shaken and uncomfortable about the approach into Bree. The four teens were crouched behind the cover of the trees terrified someone would spot them. Everyone they had seen had been an instant no go. Who was nice? Who were those men on the motorbikes?

"Let's go already-I need to have a shit," Pippin whined.

"I told you to go in the bush," Merry scolded.

"I'm not a bloody animal!" Pippin retorted with a snort of annoyance. Frodo cast a look over his shoulder before nodding and lifting himself up darting across the road to the town, the others following. There was a light in the small lodging to the left of the gates, the smell of smoke spewed from its windows. Someone was inside.

"Hello?" Frodo called. He was ignored. "Hello?" He called-louder this time. There was a disgruntled mutter of 'fuck' before a stooped man appeared, he wore an old fisherman's hat that dropped down his face in the rain, and a rain poncho. He was a surly looking thing he shone the flashlight straight in Frodo's face. He was puffing on a cigarette.

"What do you want?" The man choked.

"We need to get to the Prancing Pony hotel." Frodo nodded.

"The hotel? What's kids like you doing down these parts?"

"We want to stay at the hotel. The rest of its our own business."

"Alright then-no need to get offended. Didn't mean anything by it," The man grumbled flicking back the ends of his poncho and producing a ring of rusty old keys and shuffling toward the chained lock of the gate. "It's my job to ask questions you know? Talk of strange folk abroad, can't be none too careful." The gatekeeper muttered as they quickly left the gate behind. Frodo quickly entered the gates, heaving a sigh of relief as they left the road behind.

* * *

The streets were narrow, people leered in the darkness of the alleys, some scuttled down the streets in a bid to avoid the pouring rain, others couldn't care less. Was that guy chewing on a carrot? Frodo kept his eyes down. He didn't want to encourage conversation with any of them. The Prancing Pony-that's where Gandalf had said. He would go there-only there and wait for Gandalf. Frodo's mind wondered where the old fool had gotten to. They quickly wound in and out of the streets.

"Follow me," Pippin urged striding forward.

"You know where you're going?" Sam scowled at the teen hidden away under his sodden beanie.

"Sure I do-come here all the time for...things."

"Things?" Sam cocked a brow, "What things?"

"I'm guessing you don't realize how cheap beer and fags are here," Pippin put his head down and continued on. Frodo cast a look after his cousin and rolled his eyes before jerking his jacket closer around him and following Pippin. They wound their way forward, following after Pippin and soon they found what they were looking for. A sign hung limply off a metal bracket of one of the buildings. The Prancing Pony. Frodo could hear the music, shouting and ruckus from streets away. It wasn't exactly the 'hotel' he had thought they would find. It was more like a shitty little motel with moulding walls and cockroaches crawling about, out the front was a large beer garden filled with people even though it was pissing down. People were milling all around the beer garden out front-people in groups tucked to themselves, smoking and guzzling alcohol. Laughing and whispering. All eyes turned to the four teens as they scuttled forward attempting to wind their way through the beer garden avoiding the people within. They finally reached the front doors. Steeling himself Frodo shuffled into the reception, the others following. The reception itself was much quieter then the bustling garden out front-but still packed. Frodo had never felt more like a teenager then in the presence of the people around him now. They all seemed to tower over him, and he was tall for his age, eyes watched with intrigue. Once inside the heat instantly began to seep into his bones and dry his clothing, Pippin reached up and pulled the hat from his head shaking out his rusty curls. Frodo spied the main desk and quickly trotted toward it.

"Excuse me?" He said loudly trying to drown out the music with his words. There was a man stood behind the counter with a balding head, thick beard and red face. The man spun now and cast his eyes to the four that now stood before him.

"Good evening," He nodded, "If you're seeking accommodation, we've got some nice, cosy rooms available, Mr...ahh...?" The man trailed off a mouldy rag in his hand was wiping at a large tankard in his massive fists. He was looking for a name...

"Underhill...my name's Underhill," Frodo said confidently. Merry and Pippin looked at him aghast.

"Underhill...?" The barman cocked a brow. Of all the names!

"We're friends of Gandalf, can you tell him we've arrived?"

The man behind the bar frowned, lips pursing in thought as he searched his memories. "Gandalf...Gandalf..." The man mumbled absent minded. Then a look of realization finally dawned. It sent a wave of relief over Frodo. "Oh yeah! I remember now. Elderly chap, grey bear, nice car-uses a cane." Thank heavens. "Not seen him for six months."

What? All the relief that had build up inside him was stripped away in a matter of seconds. 6 months? That couldn't have been right.

"What do we do now?" Sam whispered from behind him. What did they do now?

* * *

They had rented a room for the weekend in the hopes maybe if they lingered enough that Gandalf would walk through the door. Frodo kept his eyes firmly fixed on the doorway that loomed at the other side of the bar. Frodo toyed with a can of soda as he watched the door. Sam was growing increasingly uncomfortable with every passing second. He was shift uncomfortably, toy with his own bottle of coke before munching on a bag of chips.

"Sam, he'll be here," Frodo said reassuringly, his eyes never leaving the door, "He'll come." Frodo really truly hoped. His gaze was finally drawn from the door when there was a loud clap on the table. Frodo turned to see Merry plonking himself down, a large grin on his face as he tossed his fake ID onto the table. In his hands was a large pint of alcohol. Pippin turned astonished, and irritated.

"What's that?" He demanded.

"This, my friend, is a pint," Merry watched the pint longingly before heaving it to his lips and guzzling on the golden liquid. Sam and Frodo exchanged glances between the pair.

"Really?" Frodo cocked a brow. Pippin spun now and snatched at his backpack shoving his can of soda away.

"I'm getting one!" Pippin produced a matching fake ID before rushing off toward the bar.

"Great-now he's going to end up pissed!" Sam sighed rubbing at his brow. "I don't like this place-and that guy hasn't done nothing but stare at you since we arrived." Sam gestured across the bar to a far away corner where a man sat. The man was distorted by the peak of a baseball cap that was dipped low across his face, a coating of stubble on his lower jaw, puffing on a cigarette. His clothing was like something out of a movie-all black. Black cargo pants, heavy boots, black t-shirt, a windbreaker thrown next to him and black gloves on his hands. The only thing that was missing was a tactical vest and guns. Frodo cast the man a wary glance. Instantly he thought of the people who had chased them in the woods. He noted the barman not far, about to pass their table.

"Excuse me?" Frodo said drawing the man's attention. "That man in the corner, who is he?"

The barman cast a look over his shoulder toward the corner before he dipped low and spoke in a hushed tone. "He's one of them rangers from the outlands, dangerous guys them. What his right name is, I never heard, but round here he's known as Strider." Quickly the barman shuffled away as though he'd be reprimanded. Frodo scowled. Why would a grown man be afraid of him? Strider? What kind of name was that?

"Strider..." Frodo mummbled under his breath..unbeknown to him he had found the ring from his pocket and began to toy with it. Turn it in his hands, touch it...it had to be close to him. Then..a voice. A whisper, a deep whisper that spoke to him...did anyone else hear it? He could feel damp droplets on his brow...he wasn't warm though... _Baggins...Baggins..._

"Baggins? Sure, I know a Baggins...he's over there!" That was Pippin's voice. Frodo looked across to the bar where Pippin was sat chatting with some of the locals. No. No. His name was not to be known! Frodo leapt up from his seat and rushed forward. Pippin was holding a large tankard of beer.

"Frodo Baggins. He's my second cousin once removed, on his mother's side and my third cousin twice removed on his father's side..."

Frodo could hear Pippin's words-they seemed to echo all around him. He pushed past people, spilling drinks, knocking food out of people's hands.

"Pippin!" He barked reaching out and attempting to grasp his cousin. He managed to grab his sleeve only. Beer rained down from Pippin's tankard.

"Steady on!" Pippin scolded pushing back at Frodo. Frodo stumbled back, knocking into someone behind him before bouncing off a table and tumbling to the floor. Everyone's eyes were on Frodo now with the disturbance he was causing. The ring! It had been knocked from his grasp. His eyes searched desperately for it-only to find it tumbling through the air. No! Frodo reached out. The ring tumbled. He snatched at the air only to have the ring slide onto his outstretched finger. There was a scream-sharp and loud that made him wince and close his eyes firmly. Who had screamed?

* * *

Frodo opened his eyes. He was no longer in the bar. The world looked like he was peering through an old photo negative. Everything had an eerie silver grey look, everything around him had slowed, the voices were no longer clear, the sound of wind howling filled his ears. He wasn't outside. Frodo attempted to force himself to stand but there was a great weight that wouldn't allow him to move. The ring. All his movements were quick. What the hell was this? What had happened. Then he heard it...a voice... _You cannot hide..._ it shook him to the core. He spun to see a bright light flaring through the darkness. It was burning brightly and burned through the silhouettes of everyone around him. It was an eye-like that of a cat wreathed in flames. It was coming closer. _There is no life here in the void...only cold...only death..._ the voice continued to taunt him. What the fuck? Frodo scrambled back as the eyes drew ever closer and closer...his back met a solid surface and he could no longer move away. It was coming. He reached to his hand, the weight of the ring lingered. He clawed at his hand-tried to pull the fucking thing off! The eye was burning closer-he could feel the heat of the flames-the voice taunted and jeered him. His heart raced. Snatching at his hand he finally pulled the ring from his flesh.

* * *

The grey world vanished. The heat of the flames lingered but the sound of the bar and the people within returned. He sat with his back against a table leg. His chest heaving. He looked around the bar. Everything was how it was. Inhaling deeply he rested back and gave a relieved sigh. What the hell had just happened? He sat a moment trying to make sense of it all. That couldn't have been real..could it? He hadn't drank anything so why was his mind playing tricks? A force grabbed his shoulder-hard and solid it jerked him from the floor and back to his feet. Frodo gave a squeal of surprise as he was thrown against a hall, a fist clutched the front of his hoody and jacket. Frodo noted it was the man-Strider. That was who had hold of him now. He had to have been with the other guys! They were near the rear of the bar now, near the stairwell that led up the motel rooms above. Through the dimness Frodo tried to see more of his face but it was still concealed by the baseball hat.

"You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill," The man had a gravel like whisper. Roughly he pulled Frodo away from the wall and toward the stairs. Frodo collapsed up them attempting to find his feet. Where were the others? Frodo dared to try and look but he was only ushered further up the stairs. Shit. They made their way up the stairway, along the corridor of rooms until they reached a far door. Frodo was pushed into the door, which easily swung open. Frodo collapsed onto his knees, hitting the carpeted floor hard before quickly scrambling to his feet. Spinning he saw the man follow him in. He wore the jacket now, a small patch on the arm had the words 'DUNEDAIN RANGERS' with an emblem comprised of a sword, bow and spear in dark greens and brows at its centre.

"What do you want?" Frodo asked.

The man turned away from the door and marched across the room now, "A little more caution from you...that is no trinket you carry."

"I carry nothing," Frodo lied. The man was scolding him like a child. He was no child.

"Indeed," The man hissed crossing the room toward the window pane on the north side of the room. He flicked a light switch on the wall turning out the main light of the room before reaching over to one of the bedside lamps and knocking that off too bathing the room in darkness, aside from the small old heater that glowed a dim orange. Frodo looked around the room...was this the one they had rented?

"I can usually avoid being seen if I wish, but to disappear entirely..." The man continued before reaching up and removing the cap from his head. He had dark hair cropped short but with a couple of weeks growth, dark grey eyes and a strong jaw. "That is a rare gift."

Frodo stood a moment and watched him. What did he want? "Who are you?" It was all he had the nerve to say.

"Are you frightened?" The man's brow creased now.

"...yes."

"Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you." The man growled again. Frodo noted there was nothing blocking his way to the door now. He eyed it carefully. The man noted this and his eyes narrowed. There was a crack from outside before the door swung open. The man across the room produced a pistol from the holster on his thigh. Sam, Merry and Pippin appeared in the doorway. Sam was baring nothing but his fists, Merry had an empty bottle and Pippin had somehow found a folded chair and was holding that above his head.

"Let him go or I'll have you, Longshanks!" Sam bellowed.

The man across the room bore a slight smile that played on his lips, before he slowly slid the handgun back into the holster once more.

"You have a stout heart, but that alone won't save you. You can no longer wait for your friend, Frodo. They're coming."

* * *

Merry snored loudly in his sleep from his crumpled position on the floor. Pippin was fidgeting and settling before continuing to fidget from his slumber on the chair in the corner. Sam was making an odd smacking sound with his mouth. Frodo sat on the edge of the bed staring toward the window. They were an awful noisy bunch when they slept. Frodo could hear a frenzy from the room they had originally intended to sleep in. Furniture being over turned, that strange shrieking noise. Strider sat at the window in a chair, his boots perched on the top of the table, pistol next to his boots. His grey eyes were fixed firmly on the window. There was a loud snap-four sharp bangs. Bullets? Then more shrieking. It was all coming from their room. Frodo turned his gaze away from the window and to the man sat next to it.

"What are they?" His voice remained calmer then he felt. Merry, Pippin and Sam stirred now shifting positions and waking.

"They were once men..." Strider said quietly. He looked briefly to the teen before turning back to the window, "Great men. Then Sauron the deceiver have to them nine rings of power. Blinded by greed they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will." What?! Frodo wanted to jump to his feet and point out just how incredibly ridiculous this all sounded but the sound of roaring engines silenced him. The blank SUV's sped down the streets of Bree vanishing into the night. Strider turned to face them all with nothing but the faint glow of the moon streaming through the window to light up his face.

"They are the NAZGUL. Failed government experiments...neither living or dead. At all times they feel the presence of the ring. Drawn to the power of the one...they will never stop hunting you." Frodo felt the dread rising in the pit of his stomach. "Get some rest, no use fretting now." Strider swung his legs off the table and stood, snatching up the pistol and tucking it back onto his leg.

"Where are you going?" Merry scowled. Pippin was wide eyed. Strider crossed the room in three swift strides before vanishing out the door into the hallway. The door locked behind him. Everyone turned to Frodo. It wasn't his fault!

"How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?" Merry looked to Frodo.

"We don't really have a choice but to trust him do we?" Frodo replied honestly.

"Did he lock that door?" Pippin scowled unfurling himself out of the chair and stumbling across the room. No doubt his legs were numb. He reached to the handle and in that split moment there was an ear shattering scream from somewhere in the building. Pippin froze before reversing from the door.

"Maybe we don't want to know what that was all about..." Pippin scrambled back across the room back to his chair.

* * *

The town was deathly silent the morning after the Nazgul had entered. Frodo hadn't slept much that night at all. He was terrified to. Between what had happened when he put the ring on and the attack the previous night...who would have been able to sleep? Merry, Pippin and Sam. Strider hadn't returned until the very early hours informing Frodo that the barman had been slaughtered. Police would be swarming the inn shortly no doubt. Strider had roused them all, they had descended out the back entrance of the Prancing Pony to the parking lot where a battered old jeep sat near the rear of the lot. Strider had paused briefly to gathered a backpack from it, some equipment and a rifle. What the hell was the rifle for? Frodo watched the man shrug on a tactical vest. There it was. He dared to look around the lot. It was empty and silent. Images of the Black SUV's kept returning to him, of the men dressed in black. The men you couldn't even see the faces of...

 **THUNK.**

The trunk of the jeep shut. Frodo noted the bumper sticker on the rear. It read 'BILL'. Who was Bill? Strider spun, propping the baseball cap atop his head and hoisting the rifle in his gloved hands before slinging it around his shoulder.

"We not taking the car?" Merry scowled.

"The plates will have been marked when I came. So no, besides where we're going can't be reached by car."

"Eh?" Sam cocked his brows.

"We make for Rivendell. The house of Elrond."

"Who?" Pippin squeaked. Strider opted to ignore him before brushing past and striding across the empty lot. Frodo looked after him a moment before noting Merry come to his side.

"What do you think Bear Grylls or Daryl Dixon wannabe?"

"Just don't piss him off," Frodo hissed. Merry held his hands up and nodded. Pippin whined from behind them.

"I'm not dressed for hiking!"

"Just for robbing Farmer Maggot?" Sam scoffed. Pippin silenced himself. Frodo inhaled deeply before following after Strider leaving 'BILL' behind.

* * *

They spent the best part of the entire morning picking their way through the forest. They followed after Strider who was proving to be better than even Bear Grylls in movements. It didn't take much time before they all began to ache and tire. Strider on the other hand just kept moving. Pippin finally huffed before swinging his backpack off his shoulder and flopping down onto a stone at the base of a large tree, Merry followed suit. Frodo paused and looked back over his shoulder at them. Merry was busy tearing at his plaid shirt ripping strips of it off tying one around his sweating brow before shoving the rest back into his bag. Pippin unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and forced it into his bag before jerking the hat off his head and forcing that into his bag too. Sam was sat gnawing on a crushed sandwich he had dug out of his own bag.

"Gentlemen," Strider's voice broke the silence as he pulled the hat from his head and ran a hand over his brow. "We don't stop until nightfall."

"What about breakfast?" Pippin asked swatting at a number of midge that swarmed him.

"You've already had it." Strider pointed out.

"Okay...we've had one. What about second breakfast?"

Strider stared at Pippin. Pippin held his composure. Frodo cringed and closed his eyes. Second breakfast? He cast his eyes toward his cousin and cocked his brows. Strider ignored him entirely before turning away and continuing through the trees shaking his head.

"Think we're the only people who do second breakfast, Pip." Merry patted Pippin's shoulder shrugging on his backpack, tying his canvas jacket around his waist leaving him in his vest. It was incredibly hot out. Pippin leapt up from his seat on the rock and rushed past Frodo quickly muttering again. Frodo looked after the pair as they began through the trees before casting his eyes to Sam. Sam finished eating off the sandwich and looked up to Frodo heaving another long sigh. They continued on long into the afternoon. Trekking through the forest the air became close and humid and eventually the heaven's opened. Rain poured heavily from the skies, thunder rumbled through the world and lightning flashed lighting up the world. Merry had quickly regretted shredding his shirt. Strider seemed unaffected by the rain and wind. He merely trekked on-leading them further and further into the woods. Where the hell was this Rivendell and who the hell was Elrond? Another friend of Gandalf's? Was Rivendell even on the map?

* * *

They trekked and trekked. Pippin whined. Merry cursed and Sam puffed. Strider had taken the hat and jacket off hooking them onto his belt. Had he seriously used the downpour to wash? Frodo just kept his head down to keep the wind out of his eyes. It whipped his face but after, what felt like hours, the storm subsided and left a cleaner clearer air in its wake. They had left the forest and continued on, hopping stone walls. Frodo didn't think he had ever been so deep into the countryside. He hadn't seen a car or road for hours! Strider didn't slow his pace whatsoever. In fact if anything Strider had moved faster. They crossed a large grassy plain...how had Frodo never discovered any of this? In the middle of the plain was a large earthy mound and atop it seemed to the an abandoned stone structure. Was that a tower ruin? Frodo had seen pictures of things like this in his history books. It was...kind of creepy actually.

"We'll rest here tonight," Strider called over his shoulder before trotting through a shin deep bog of mud.

"Wait...we're going toward that thing?" Merry piped from behind Frodo struggling through the mud. Strider made no response just kept trudging forward. Frodo sighed heaving the backpack on his back before just following on. He thought he was fit but this countryside hike had proved otherwise.

* * *

They eventually reached the summit of the large hill and found a alcove in the mound before finally deciding to throw their things down. Frodo allowed the backpack to slide off his shoulders-felt as though a ton of bricks had been taken off him. He flopped to the floor, Pippin quickly following suit and inhaling deeply.

"I think I'm having a heart attack," Pippin heaved. Merry dropped down next to him followed by Sam. Strider was stood at the edge peering out over the plain that extended before them. It was getting dark now. The sun had bleached the horizon a pale gold, the dark clouds rolled in attempting to shut out all the light. It was silent. Nothing but the howl of the wind and echo of the rolling clouds. Frodo felt a kink in his back attempting to stretch it out. He looked down to his trainers which were now mud covered, the blue color they had once been hidden behind a slick coating of brown. Bilbo had bought him these. Well they were certainly worn in now. His socks were sopping and damp..so much so he thought there was mushrooms growing on his feet. Did none of this bother Strider at all? Frodo could smell something...shortly realizing it was them. Sweat. Strider turned now and approached them. He ducked low in front of them and swung down his backpack, unzipping a front compartment and throwing it open. Frodo gaped when a number of handguns were revealed. What the fuck?

"These are for you," Strider muttered nonchalantly reaching down and plucking one of the handguns from the bag, quickly assessing it before flipping it in his hand and extending it to Sam.

"I've never held a gun!" Sam sputtered receiving the weapon. Merry was handed another. Frodo leant forward and plucked one of the handguns from the backpack studying it closely. It was a small thing, heavier then it looked and square. GLOCK 19 was printed on the side of the barrel.

"What do we need these for?" Pippin squeaked.

Strider ignored him, "Keep them close. I'm going to have a look around." Strider re-zipped the backpack shut before slinging it around his shoulders once again. "Stay here." With that the man stood over them turned, slung the rifle from off his shoulder, checked it before turning and leaving the area.

"What. The. Fuck!" Merry gaped after him. Sam clutched the handgun awkwardly. It didn't suit Sam at all. Frodo tucked the gun onto his jeans belt...that's what everyone usually did wasn't it? In the films?

* * *

Somehow. Someway. Frodo had managed to find sleep. He was curled up on the hard ground with his jacket thrown over him while the wind threatened to tear it away. His backpack was beneath his head-what a _great_ pillow it was. The eerie howl of the wind was shattered by hushed voices and the clatter of...a pan? What was that smell...? He spun and looked around to see Sam, Merry and Pippin sat around a small fire a small frying pan was perched over the flames.

"What are you doing?" Frodo looked to them all. Pippin was currently munching on a sausage. Merry was cooking and Sam seemed as though he had been caught robbing.

"Tomatoes, sausages, and nice crispy bacon," Merry grinned turning some more sausages in the pan.

"We've saved some for you, Frodo," Sam grinned lifting a plate full of food. Although the smell made his mouth water it was not something they should have been doing! They were on top of a mound with a fire! Anyone would be able to see it? Where was Strider? Frodo quickly unfurled himself from his jacket and darted to his feet.

"Put it out, you fools!" He rushed toward the fire, "Put it out!" Frodo kicked at the earth and dirt kicking it on top of the fire.

"Oh, that's nice!" Pippin scolded, "Ash on my tomatoes!"

There was an ear splitting shriek that shattered the quiet night air. Everyone froze. Frodo had just managed to douse the flames...but it was too late now. No...he knew what that noise meant. Frodo spun and rushed to the edge of the alcove peering out into the darkness. That's when he saw it, figures creeping through the darkness toward the ruin. Frodo could just make out the faint glimmer of lights from the ends of rifles gripped in the grasp of the oncoming Nazgul. Five in all. The others rushed to his side and peered out into the darkness too. Where was Strider? Frodo reached to his belt and jerked the handgun free. It was so much heavier now in his hands.

"Go!" Frodo barked. They all spun and began to climb up the hill, heading further and further to the summit. There was nowhere else for them to really go was there? Frodo kept the handgun clutched tightly in his hands as he ran. What the hell. This was not meant to be happening. What would Bilbo say? Did Bilbo know about all this? Is that why he left? They ascended a stone stairway carved into the hillside before finally reaching the summit. The raced quickly...when they reached the time they were amidst a ring of broken stones. Where to now? Hide? Where was there to hide? Vines were hanging from the stone pillars that had once served as support for a roof. There was no roof. Leaves, grasses and dirt all sprung through the cracks in the stone floor. Frodo spun now feeling his back pressed to the others. They all retrieved their handguns. Frodo dared a glance down to his own and noted a small switch on the side. He flipped it. What had that done? He didn't have time to think on it anymore. They waited. Wind howling. They tried to look everywhere and anywhere. The Nazgul were black...how were they to see them through the black of night? All they had was the faint silver glow from the moon above. Frodo spun when he heard a snap. The darkness moved, shifted and from it melted a man-one of the masked men that had chased them before. The man was clutched tightly to a silver pistol in his hands like the one from the Walking Dead. A huge thing with a long barrel. Frodo stared wide eyed. It put his own weapon to shame. He stepped back as the man clambered through a broken window beginning toward then. Frodo's heart was pounding. What should he do? Four more shapes melted from the darkness-all the same. The Nazgul. How many were there? Strider had said nine right? So where were the other five? Frodo and the others instantly tried to back away from them but the men only continued their advance. All had the same large silver gun all aimed at them. Were they going to shoot them? This was too weird. It had to be a dream right? Frodo was surely still dreaming...or well...having a nightmare! Without warning Sam roared.

"Back you devils!" He raised his pistol and aimed firing blindly. Not a single shot met a mark. The man at the centre ducked low before reaching out and slamming the heel of his gun against Sam's jaw. The teen toppled to the side with an ungraceful thud. One of the other Nazgul kicked away the handgun from Sam's clutches. Merry and Pippin jumped in front of Frodo only to be quickly thrown to the side with a swift swipe each. Frodo stared up at the man descending on him. He could see nothing past the dark goggles and mask. He stared into the black pits where eyes should have been but he saw nothing. He raised the gun in his hand and aimed at the man in front of him. His hands were clammy and shaking. Just pull the trigger. He couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. His hands shook before finally the gun tumbled from his grip and hit the floor with a clatter. That was his only defence. He stumbled back, tripping ungracefully on a number of vines stretched across the floor. Shit. Shit! Then it spoke to him...that venomous whisper swirled inside his mind...it was there. In his pocket...Frodo fumbled and finally managed to draw the golden ring free of his jeans staring at it. Was this seriously...calling to him? He looked past the ring to see one of the figures staring at him. Without pause it stepped daringly forward, reaching to its belt and drawing a knife. A small slim blade gleamed in the moonlight. Frodo scrambled back across the floor, clutching the ring tightly. He scrambled back until his back met stone. The figure above him continued toward him rising the blade high with will to drive it down on top of Frodo. He couldn't take it. Frodo unfurled his hand and looked to the ring. It drifted closer and closer until...the gold wrapped itself around his finger again.

* * *

Once again the whole world began returned to that eerie silver grey, everything seemed to slow. The most alarming thing was when Frodo looked up to the figure looming over him he was met with what appeared to be a ghost! It's clothing was streaming and tattered, hair white and it's face pallid with a ruthless expression. Dark empty eyes peered down at him. All five of the figures were looming over him, but the one at the centre extended a hand. Reaching a haggard bony hand forward toward him the creature wanted the ring. Frodo, without meaning, felt his hand rise to meet it. He tried desperately to stop. They wanted the ring. He couldn't allow them to have it. He couldn't stop his arm from drifting forward. Frodo grit his teeth and growled in determination. No. They wouldn't have it. These things could get fucked. He ripped his hand back close to his chest. The figure above him snarled before springing forward plunging the blade in its hand down. The blade pierced through Frodo's shoulder with a silent hiss, like air being let out from a balloon. Pain ripped through every fibre of his body. Blinding white heat flared through his flesh like nothing he'd ever felt. He screamed. A small object flared through his vision hurtling through the air to the feet of the Nazgul stood over him. There was a snap and bang as bright white light flared. Were it not for the unbearable pain in his shoulder he would have covered his eyes. A dark figure leapt forward followed by the snap of a gun. Strider. He stood over Frodo now, pistol at the ready firing toward the creatures. Frodo cursed loudly, shifting his body before reaching to the ring welded to his finger. He jerked it free.

* * *

He screamed as the world returned to its natural state.

"Frodo!" Sam screamed from somewhere amidst the ruins rushing toward him. Strider kicked out at one of the Nazgul agents sending it stumbling back before spinning and snatching a blade from his own belt and swinging it in a wide arc toward another of the flailing creatures. One of the Nazgul made a swing for Strider's head, only for the man to duck and raise the pistol sending a bullet straight into the Nazgul's abdomen. It shrieked madly. Another made a bit to strike but Strider was quick to react. He didn't falter in step nor aim. He had everything mapped and planned just right. As more gunshots ricocheted and snapped the Nazgul began to flee. Two rushed for the edge of the ruin only to have another device launched after them. It popped and sent a ray of blinding light after them. One remained. Frodo could seek it attempting to stalk across the ruin and remain unnoticed. It had been noticed. Strider spun to face it and raised the pistol. With one well placed shot a bullet snapped against the helmet of the Nazgul agent. The agent flailed wildly screaming before fleeing after it's fellow agents into the night. Strider accessed the surrounds.

"Strider!" Sam bellowed loudly. Frodo winced at the sudden noise. The flesh of his shoulder sizzled and burned. Should it hurt this much? It felt as though poison was flowing through him. Every inch of his body was seized and throbbing with pain. Strider arrived and dropped low beside them all.

"Help him, Strider," Sam pleaded looking down to Frodo fearfully. Strider's attention was drawn to the blade on the floor. The Nazgul must have dropped it. It was coated with blood. Frodo's blood.

"He's been stabbed with a Morgul toxin," Strider noted grimly. There was a sudden sizzle before the entirety of the blade melted away leaving only a handle. Frodo could barely contain himself-the wound...it burned! Strider threw the dagger handle away in disgust.

"Do something!" Sam urged.

"This is beyond my skill to heal," Strider pushed Sam away from Frodo and grabbed hold of the teen hoisting him up and over his shoulder. Frodo was limp as he was heaved up.

In minutes they had gathered their things and were now dashing through a dense forest. Strider was pushing onward, Frodo heaved over his shoulder, a torch in his free hand to guide his way. Sam, Merry and Pippin were struggling to keep pace with him. Each of them also had been given a flashlight to guide their way.

"Hurry!" Strider barked over his shoulder to them.

"But you said we're six days from Rivendell!" Sam pointed out as he scrambled through the undergrowth. Frodo moaned as he was jostled on Strider's shoulder.

"Hold on, Frodo." Strider muttered.

"He'll never make it!" Sam was panicked, terrified. They all were. For now they needed to get as far from the ruin as they could. The Nazgul would be lurking. Strider had to try and put as much ground between them as he could before they made another attack. Frodo was barely conscious. Barely clinging on. His head was lolling against Strider's back as he pushed through the undergrowth. It was a good thing the teen was skinny and light. His fever was already growing. Strider cursed.

"Gandalf..." Frodo moaned, "Gandalf!"

They were loosing him.


End file.
